


Pristine

by SubwayWolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cleanliness, Enemas, F/F, Latex Gloves, Masturbation in Shower, Medical Device, Medical Enema, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nude Female Clothed Female(s), Sensory Enhancements, Shaving, Stimulants, Stirrups, Vaginal Dialators, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: Fareeha is due for a deep cleaning.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deathtouch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/gifts).



> heeeeyyyyy it's [deathtouch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/Deathtouch)'s birthday (ok not really but this is her favorite day of the year so im pretending its her birthday) and ive known her a long long time and she writes me things every year and shes SO GOOD TO ME but ive never done any writing for her smfh!!!! so this year im shaping up and i wrote something i HOPE she likes. because she's honestly .. the best. she knows this, she is my Favorite and she's helped me through so many hard things and i really owe her a lot. she is very special to me in a way nobody else is, and im really proud and honored to call her my friend. happy halloween ilysm and i hope you like this :3!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> ps: this is my first enema fic! 100% of what i know, ive learned from deathtouch, the best teacher in the world. go easy on me if i did a bad job though.
> 
> happy halloween!!!

Fingernails glide over her skin across stood-up hairs and goosebumps, like a knife might.

Military service did not make Fareeha supple to touch. In fact it made her rigid. It might have been innate fear that drove her to flinch – fear which ignited a tense reaction, levelling onto her heels in a fighting stance, a response only the army could teach and breed.

Yet somehow, she did not feel the need to fight back. She feels lethargic, slow, perhaps drugged, but she wasn’t afraid. 

On her back on the cool chrome medical examination table, Fareeha felt generally numb. Even while nude, with her legs spread and elevated, strapped by the ankle and upper thigh with medical stirrups, there was not much discomfort she could feel. 

The only anomaly was her pussy. It felt swollen and extra-sensitive, like all the blood was rushing there and widening the opening on its own. She clenched her walls and could feel how open she was. There was nothing inside, however, so the gap made her panic.

Angela noticed. “I administered a vaginal dilator,” she explained calmly. “It seems to be working fast, though I only gave you a small dose. Perhaps the effects are enhanced by the stimulant solution I gave you as well.”

Stimulants? Those might not have kicked in yet. Fareeha feels her heart rate elevating, but it might be from the nerves.

It was hard to be afraid of Angela Zeiger. All joking aside, she really did look like an angel. Fareeha did not have a solid grasp on any religion in particular, but she imagines that the angels spoken of in old Western storybooks look just like her. She also had a gentle touch, kind eyes, and a sterile, fresh scent about her that gave her this presence of being quintessentially good.

Fareeha doesn’t have any time to think more about this because she lifts her head to see Angela holding a chrome bottle of an unknown substance. She pressed down the nozzle and out comes some strange-looking foamy substance, white and thick, resembling shaving cream, but undoubtedly something much more dangerous.

Right then, Fareeha finally feels the fear. It finally hits her that she is really at the doctor’s mercy. She’s strapped down by metal bars and latches and none of her physical strength can save her. Whatever this substance is, she feels like it isn’t going to end well for her.

Angela chuckles lightly. Her voice is muffled; she is wearing a white surgical mask covering her nose and mouth. “Relax.” She explains, “It’s only shaving cream.”

Oh. It is. It smells like it, and looks like it, too. Fareeha lets her head rest back on the metal examination table again, and she feels a little embarrassed.

She’s snapped out of it when Angela starts to apply the shaving cream between Fareeha’s legs. Fareeha jolts in surprise as Angela uses soft motions with her fingers to apply the cream on all parts of Fareeha’s privates with hair on them, from the outermost lips of her pussy to the flat of her crotch, all the way up to her lower tummy.

“I’m going to shave you, now,” Angela explains, as if it isn’t obvious. “I like a clean and smooth operating area to work with.”

Operating area? Fareeha tries not to think too much about what that means.

Angela produces an old-fashioned silver shaving blade, a small one that fits into her delicate hand, and begins to shave her clean. The pubes come off in repeated scrapes of the blade, collecting foam and little black hairs on the silver flat of it. Angela’s talented hands do not draw blood. 

It feels invasive and humiliating. Fareeha never really thought much of the hair that grew there, or on her legs or under her arms or on her upper lip sometimes, but having it exposed like this just now is very embarrassing. She’s suddenly hyperaware of the rest of the hair on her body. She wonders if Angela plans to shave her in those places, too.

Angela finishes with a wet cloth to wipe and remaining foam and hair off of the area. From the swipe of the fabric, Fareeha can feel that she is completely smooth down there, not even any stubble pricking up. 

Just then, the door opens. Dread washes over Fareeha, until she recognizes the footsteps.

It’s Satya. Fareeha can smell her, too. She always has a subtle scent about her, but this time it’s stronger and more detailed. 

Maybe it’s the stimulants. It’s possible that they’re sensory enhancers, the way that it looks like the examination light above her seems to be getting brighter and brighter. Noise grows louder, too. The clicks of Satya’s heels, the smacking of latex against skin as Angela pulls on a pair of white latex gloves; it’s all very loud, too loud. 

The light grows blinding. Fareeha closes her eyes. It will get unbearable soon.

Fareeha finally speaks. “What are you going to do to me?” Her own voice sounds loud in her ears. She decides not to speak again.

“Just a deep cleaning,” Angela answers nonchalantly. “You should be cleaned like this annually, at least.” She speaks as if this is a normal check-up for all of her patients. “Miss Vaswani is simply here to observe.”

Of course she is. That’s what she likes best.

* * *

On the floor of the Watchpoint reserved mainly for women’s dormitories, each room has its own private bathroom. The small workout facility, only accessible to the women who live there, has a communal shower. It is usually empty, and only used by Fareeha or Alexandra after early-morning or late-night workouts, for efficiency.

Opposite the entrance of the shower room is a row of sinks and a mirror that crosses the entire wall. There is usually nobody there, unless someone stops to use the bathroom while passing through the hallway, without having to fish out their keys to get into their room.

Not long after the Recall was initiated, Fareeha found herself being watched.

The first time, she hadn’t even seen Satya enter the room. The only thing that alerted Fareeha to her presence was the sound of the sink faucet turning on. Satya has a rigid process for washing her hands, so she took more time than normal.

Fareeha was naked under the steaming water of the shower, so she was hyper-aware of the eyes in the mirror, staring at her reflection, staring at _her_. It made her heart quicken and her gut twist. The longer it lasted, the worse she felt. She found herself hiding her chest and covering up between her legs until Satya finished washing up and walked away.

But it happened again. And again. 

It seemed that every time Fareeha worked out and took a shower, Satya was there, her black eyes in the mirror. It didn’t matter what time of day it was; Satya was there. 

It didn’t take long for Fareeha to learn to love those eyes. The voyeurism alarmed her but it also excited her; maybe one caused the other. 

It only lasted a few minutes out of the fifteen it took for Fareeha to finish showering, but she found herself staying longer, thinking up ways to keep those eyes around. She discovered that Satya observed a little longer when Fareeha used this time to rub her breasts, cupping them beneath the flow of water. Satya also lingered when Fareeha is on her period, occasional touches of blood washing out between her legs and tinting the water pink as it travels to the drain below.

It took Fareeha a while to catch on, to realize what Satya really wants to see. The last time she had masturbated in the shower was when she was a teenager, and given that the shower heads are not removable from their place in the wall, it is now more difficult to get off. 

But those eyes, those unspeaking lips and focused expression in the mirror - that works just as well. Fareeha slides two fingers between her legs and performs.

* * *

So Satya is observing, supposedly – she does not stand with her back to the wall or take a seat on a chair, no, she stays close, standing. There is no doubt she will participate in the events to come.

Her senses are so elevated that Fareeha can practically feel eyes on her without even turning her head. Or maybe it’s just the heat of the overhead lamp draping warm sterile-white light onto her skin. She clenches her fists; the pressure evens her out but every nerve is lit like a firework primed to explode. And all her attention is focused on the egregious zone between her legs which she is sure will be penetrated soon enough.

Angela is very calm. She treats this as a procedure, which undoubtedly she gets off on. But there is precision and intelligence to her movements, and compassion in her methods. She behaves like any good doctor would. She speaks as she would to any other patient, as if this is not what others would view as a disturbing sex ritual. 

Then again, it’s not sex, not really. Satya has no desire to have sex of any kind – sexual performance is something she enjoys to watch, perhaps because of the visual and sensory beauty of it, the way that sex is the singular chaos in this world which can end with sated peace and light behind the eyes. 

It’s not all about the pleasure. It’s about the care and vulnerability. It’s about being in control over Fareeha in every single way.

The act is kept up by Dr. Zeiger, who produces a thin strip of paper from her work station. She shows it to Fareeha – it’s about four inches long by an inch wide, a material similar to a thin construction paper, and light pink in color.

Angela explains. “This is medical litmus paper. I will use it to test your pH.” She approaches Fareeha ominously. “Please try to refrain from moving while I do this.”

Don’t move? With her ankles bound up and her legs spread like this, there was not much of anything to do if she wanted to fight back, which she didn’t. She tried clenching her walls again, but she was wide open, numb from the dilation. 

Angela inserted two latex-gloved fingers into Fareeha, and even that did not touch her walls until Angela spread them and pulled a soft swipe to collect and examine the fluid. When she took her fingers out, she examined them closely with her eyes, then giving them a sniff. She seemed contented with this and used the paper next.

Fareeha was still very sensitive, but even then she could not feel the paper being inserted into her. It felt like nothing at all, the way Angela placed it on the wall of Fareeha’s vagina so that it turned damp and stuck there, absorbing the moisture inside.

Angela removes her hand, leaving the paper inside. Her voice is gentle, almost maternal. “Stay still, Miss Amari. This will only take a moment.”

As she tries to focus on the paper inside her, she nearly forgets about Satya standing over her. She is closer now, looking right down at her, her head blocking a portion of the examination lamp. But Fareeha doesn’t look at her. She feels the hairs on her body sticking on their ends, and making eye contact with the woman will only make it worse. Something about this makes her scared.

But Angela helps her feel safe again. She reaches inside, purposefully touching the ringed muscles of the inside of Fareeha’s vaginal walls with her gloved fingers, her long nails stretching out the white latex and faintly scraping her, sending a chill up her spine. 

Angela removes the paper and holds it up for Satya and Fareeha to see – it is damp now, most of it a darker shade of pink, with the exception of the bone-dry end of it Angela is holding it by with the tips of her fingers.

She disappears to find the results of the test, Fareeha keeps focusing on the effects of the stimulants. The stirrups keeping her ankles up and spread are tight, so tight she can feel the veins there softly thumping against the metal clasping her tight. She can still feel the spot inside of her where the paper was and where Angela’s fingers scraped; those spots are less wet than the rest of her, the temperature subsequently colder.

“The results are in,” Angela announces. “You are balanced. I can see that you take care of yourself.” She turns over her shoulder, a grin hiding beneath her surgical mask. “Good job.” 

That made Fareeha feel good, like a puppy who had just been praised. She liked pleasing her doctor. 

By chance, Fareeha looks to the side and in her peripheral vision sees something in Satya’s hand. She can’t see much because she has to squint from the blinding light above her, but once she turns her head, it’s very clear what Satya is holding: a leather belt.

The belt can’t be her own. Satya does not wear leather. So she either took one from someone else, or she had this to serve some purpose other than a fashion statement.

A faucet turns on. The sound of cold water smacking against the bottom of a steel sink and funneling down the drain catches the over-sensitive Fareeha off guard. But something stops the water from hitting the drain. Something catches the water and fills up… a bag of some sort?

There’s no question what’s about to happen. Angela will no doubt explain to her what the procedure is and why it is to be done, but she doesn’t need to. It’s an enema bag, and Fareeha is going to get her anal cavity cleaned out. She isn’t surprised, but the thought of it makes her stomach turn. Of course. There was no way this would be a simple shave and pH test. Besides, Satya would never have agreed to observe if there was no element of pain involved.

Angela’s voice is gentler now, innocent in a way. She shuts off the faucet. “Now is time for your deep cleaning. Depending on how clean the water flushes out after the first hold, I will decide from there how many more holds you must do. Miss Vaswani and I want you to be as clean as possible.”

She hooks the bag up onto an IV stand. The tubing hangs down, loops up and around another hook of the stand, and the rest of it is corded up in Angela’s hand. The bag is clear, as is the tube. Fareeha doesn’t know if this is good or bad; she can see it coming, but she will also be able to see how far she is away from finishing.

“I am going to open you now,” Angela announces only seconds before wiggling the tip of a lube-coated finger into Fareeha’s anus. 

It isn’t painful; Fareeha has been stretched very far, before, so a little spreading with one or two of Angela’s slim fingers is nothing. But by far the worst part of it is the medical lubricant. It’s ice cold, shockingly so – Fareeha tenses up in response and tries to close her legs, but the metal stirrups hold her back. Her thighs are strong, so she could probably break out of the restraints if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to.

It didn’t take long for Fareeha to open up enough to fit the nozzle of the enema tubing. It slides in easily. Angela makes sure to push it in far so the rush of water won’t make the nozzle shoot out from its place. Luckily the vaginal dilator did not affect the muscles of the anal wall, because Fareeha is easily able to clench around the long, tube-shaped plastic nozzle.

Fareeha catches a glimpse of the bag. It doesn’t look particularly big, not like Fareeha is well-versed in what is standard. By the looks of it, she feels that she can stomach this amount and do a good hold without an unbearable amount of trouble. But at the same time, she doesn’t want to trust what she sees. Her senses are altered right now, and her eyes or judgment might be lying to her.

“Are you ready, Miss Amari?”

Of course not. There really isn’t any good way to prepare for this. But she nods anyway.

“Exhale,” Angela commands.

Fareeha lets out a long, slow breath, trying to keep silent and enjoy the painless peace as long as she can. Angela reaches up and unlatches the stopper backing up the tubing, and the water begins to flow.

The feeling isn’t pleasant, not even at the beginning. Her body knows that this should not be happening, that this sensitive part of her was not built to be taking this kind of pain. Of course, she’s gone through more than enough pain in her life, in and out of battle. The military taught her pain tolerance techniques. 

But in a situation like this, a situation that is heavily sexual and not life-or-death, the association between pure pain and pain for pleasure is non existent, so everything Fareeha has been taught, her mind and body forgets. But that’s part of it, it’s part of the game. It’s part of being helpless, part of Angela being merciless.

The water continues flowing, at a steady pace. It’s happening slowly, so it’s relatively easy to tolerate. Then Angela, impatient, reaches up and gives the bag a firm squeeze.

It’s too much. Way too much. Fareeha can feel every sensation in hyper-drive because of the stimulants. She can feel the rings of muscle inside of her stretching out beyond their abilities to accommodate the flood of water. They keep stretching and expanding. Pain is the result, burning hot, rising in temperature with each passing millisecond.

She makes the mistake of opening her eyes. The bag is not even half-way empty yet. She wants to scream. Her jaw is clenched so tight she’s afraid her teeth may shatter, fists balled at her sides, tears squeezing out the corners of her eyes. 

Satya watches this discomfort. She knows how pain can bring mental chaos and white noise, and she wants to help. She gets out the belt.

Deliberately and in no rush, Satya folds the belt in two and raises it to Fareeha’s mouth, against her lips. Fareeha instinctively opens her mouth and closes it around the leather, sinking her teeth into it, letting out a pain-filled moan. More tears stream down the sides of her face, down into her hair. She chokes out a few sobs. They come out muffled against the leather.

Satya hears the cry for help and detests it. Her face twists in disgust as she grabs Fareeha by the jaw and turns her face so they meet eyes. They don’t have to speak. Satya can say what she needs to say just with her eyes: “Behave. Be strong.”

Words to live by. Fareeha’s whole body is tense and rigid, even her toes are curling. Her fingernails dig into her palms like they might draw blood. She squeezes her eyes tight and Satya releases her. She won’t cry any more, despite her lungs begging her to scream.

Her insides are stretching and filling very deep, cleanly washing out every inch of her with what feels like pure fire. It could be the stimulants talking, but perhaps Angela used sterilization fluid or soap of some kind to make the enema a nasty solution of burning liquids instead of just water.

After what seems like an eternity, the amount of water stops growing. She sneaks a peak and sees the bag completely dry, hanging limply from the IV stand. _Finally_.

Angela puts a hand on Fareeha’s cleanly-shaven lower abdomen. There is a noticeable bulge there. When Angela moves her hand gently, easing her, the pain lets up, only for a moment. “Very good. Hold it for me. We must allow the solution to do its job.”

The liquid is cold, but as it sits inside of her, it ferments and heats up to the temperature of her insides. If she moves a single inch, she can feel it sloshing around in waves. Her muscles are burning, screaming for relief, but she holds it all in. The nozzle prevents backflow, but if Fareeha pushes hard enough, it would spray out the sides. But she holds it. She bares the pain. She bites harder into the leather.

It’s hard to tell how much time is passing. Fareeha keeps her eyes closed so she doesn’t have to face the visual cues. She distracts herself by focusing on her pussy, which is puffy and swollen, begging to be rubbed. The pain is unavoidable and impossible to ignore, but she likes it, too. She likes it a lot.

Angela finally announces, “Very good. When I remove the nozzle, you may release.”

Fareeha holds her breath to keep from sobbing with relief. She feels the nozzle slide out of place, and with it comes the flow of water. Most of it comes out on its own from the natural opening the nozzle left. The rest she pushes out. It comes out in waves with the contractions of her abdomen, flowing out onto the floor and splattering onto the tile floor, which has a drain in the center because of operations like this.

It’s unbelievable how quickly the water comes out of her. It took so long for it to be put in, and now it’s out in what feels like seconds. The pain does not stop, though. It’s considerably better, but her muscles still burn from being stretched out, and there is a slight frothing sensation inside of her and on her rim, where the soapy solution continues to bubble and fizz.

“Congratulations,” Angela beams. “The water came out clean. Looks like you will only have to do one hold for me today.”

Fareeha sighs a silent thank you to her gods, and suddenly the belt is removed from her mouth. She doesn’t use the opportunity to speak. She can barely move, she’s in such a state of physical exhaustion.

Angela continues the lecture. “Remember, this is an annual check-up, so this cleanliness will last you a year. Unless your guardian schedules another appointment.”

Guardian? Does she mean Captain Amari? No, of course – she means Satya, and Satya knows. “I will let you know if she becomes dirty again, Doctor.” 

Angela gives Satya a nod. “Of course. You know how to reach me.” She turns her attention to Fareeha again. She stands directly above her now, the examination light giving her blonde hair a heavenly glow. “Do you think you are okay to stand, Miss Amari? It’s time for you to go.”

“No,” Fareeha manages to protest . “Keep me here a little longer.” She is panting, and she can feel herself sweating. If this is an annual checkup, she wants this feeling to last as long as possible. The alternative to that would be getting dirty on purpose… and that would not be difficult.

**Author's Note:**

> lol idk if any of you want to add me after that nasty mess but im on battlenet pc as [SubwayWolf#1494](http://masteroverwatch.com/profile/pc/us/SubwayWolf-1494), i just hit level 300 and im like uhh ~2600-ish on comp right now? add me, i love brawling and qp too!


End file.
